The True Story of the Necronomicon by Abdul Alhazred: Is It Just the Product of H.P. Lovecraft's Imagination?

In 1962, if you had picked up a copy of Antiquarian Bookman—one of the most authoritative magazines for bibliophiles and collectors of rare books—you would have found a rather intriguing snippet referring to a book for sale with a sinister name: the Necronomicon, purportedly from a virtually unknown Miskatonic University.

If instead, you had frequented the area around the California University library, at least until the 1990s, you would have come across a properly cataloged entry recording the loans and returns of a volume with a similarly ominous title: the Necronomicon.

But are we talking about that Necronomicon? The one described by H.P. Lovecraft in his stories, or something else entirely? Yes, we’re indeed talking about that Necronomicon.

Such claims might unsettle anyone who has ever been captivated by the writings of the "Solitary of Providence" and might even prompt laughter—but they’d laugh far less if they knew that all of this is entirely true and documented.

So, does the Necronomicon actually exist? The answer is complex, and as with all things, it’s necessary to proceed methodically, for its history is vast and filled with strange deceptions, half-truths, and chilling revelations about prehuman civilizations. We are about to delve into the pages of ancient forbidden books, unspeakable rituals, and strange cosmic entities known as the "Great Old Ones," long mistaken for something else by humanity.

What is the Necronomicon? And who wrote it?

Among all cursed books, the Necronomicon seems to have the most sinister history. To clarify upfront: it is a pseudobiblium—an imaginary book, featured (in this case) within a literary work. It might be mentioned in passing, serve as the focal point around which an entire story revolves—such as The Nine Doors to the Kingdom of Shadows (Aristide Torchia - Venice, 1666), invented by author Arturo Pérez-Reverte for his novel The Club Dumas—or have excerpts included in texts to advance the plot, later expanded in other stories or novels.

But sometimes, things get out of hand, as we’ll soon see.

To begin with, Lovecraft was notably vague about the content of his Necronomicon, offering only brief mentions. For example, in At the Mountains of Madness, a member of an expedition of sixteen explorers refers to a mysterious book, the Necronomicon, which allegedly contains descriptions of strange, dormant creatures known as Shoggoths. These beings are said to reside in the very place the explorers are headed—among the icy wastes of Antarctica. There, in those desolate, frozen lands, these creatures lie in a death-like slumber, buried among cyclopean ruins erected by what was likely an alien—or perhaps prehuman—civilization. Dormant beings? Not quite, as one awakens, forcing the explorers to flee.

However, the Necronomicon isn’t always so detailed, possibly by design. It seems likely that Lovecraft deliberately left an aura of mystery—or perhaps, more plausibly, kept the details flexible, adapting the book’s content to suit his narrative needs. Nevertheless, certain aspects of its content are repeatedly mentioned in his writings, including:

Revelations about creatures existing outside time and material space.
The history of the Great Old Ones and the Shoggoths.
Black magic spells to resurrect the dead.
Techniques for shifting the mind to another material plane (as in The Whisperer in Darkness).
Rituals to open portals between worlds.
Knowledge about corpse-eaters.
Incantations to awaken the Great Old Ones from their slumber.

Lovecraft tells us that the Necronomicon was written by a mad Arab named Abdul Alhazred (a name derived from the wordplay "Abdul all has read," implying "Abdul has read everything"). This Yemeni scholar, though immensely cultured, is always mentioned with reproach, having allegedly directed his curiosity toward things best left unexplored. Specifically, Abdul Alhazred is said to have detailed in the Necronomicon rituals for summoning and awakening the Great Old Ones, including Cthulhu, the entity said to dwell in the ocean depths in a peculiar, otherworldly place with an unpronounceable name: R’lyeh, as referenced in the Cthulhu Mythos.

Born in Sana’a, Yemen’s capital, Alhazred is said to have lived during the Umayyad Caliphate in the 8th century CE. His studies of ancient cults and mystical secrets reportedly led him to the ruins of Babylon, the secret catacombs of Memphis, and extended years of solitude in the Arabian deserts of Raba El-Khaliyeh and Dahan—believed to be haunted by malevolent spirits and otherworldly creatures.

Why was he called “mad”? First, Alhazred wasn’t a Muslim—a controversial position for a Middle Easterner even today, let alone then. Instead, he worshiped bizarre cosmic entities with unpronounceable names. Second, during his travels, he claimed to have visited the “City of a Thousand Pillars,” where he discovered chronicles of an inconceivably ancient prehuman race. Finally, he wrote Al Azif in 730 CE, regarded by those who read it as pure blasphemy.

This infamous book, however, seemed to attract not only the disdain of his contemporaries but possibly something supernatural that had followed him for years. In 738 CE, while wandering a marketplace in Damascus, Abdul Alhazred was reportedly seized and devoured in broad daylight by an invisible entity in front of many witnesses.

End of Abdul Alhazred, yes—but not of his book. Al Azif had secretly spread among the philosophers of the time and was translated into Greek in 950 CE by the Byzantine scholar Theodorus Philetas under the title we now know: Necronomicon.

What does the word Necronomicon mean?

Initially, Al Azif was interpreted as the nocturnal sound made by demons, but its proper name might be Kitab Al-Azif, or "The Book of the Howlings of Desert Demons."

With Theodorus Philetas’s Greek translation, the title changed to Necronomicon, a much clearer indication of its contents. The term Al Azif referred to the “whisper of demons at night,” whereas Necronomicon, derived from the Greek words nekros– nomos– eikon, means “The Book of the Laws Governing the Dead.”

Are we certain about this?
Sam Raimi’s 1981 film The Evil Dead has admittedly contributed to some confusion: the "dead" implied by the prefix necro (nekros) doesn’t necessarily refer to deceased humans, nor does the book deal strictly with necromancy. Instead, it more likely refers to the "Great Old Ones," envisioned as “the Great Dreamers.”

Olaus Wormius and the Latin Translation of the Necronomicon

At this point, we arrive at the mysterious Dane previously mentioned, Olaus Wormius, who, in 1228, took Theodorus Philetas' Greek translation of the infamous Necronomicon and transcribed it into Latin. Starting with the Greek version, the book faced heavy suppression and was eventually burned in 1050 by Bishop Michael of Constantinople, possibly due to “unpleasant incidents” caused by reckless individuals reading the book. Despite this, over time, Wormius' Latin version of the Necronomicon survived within a tight circle of initiates, even after being included in the Index Expurgatorius by order of Pope Gregory IX in 1232.

The Index Expurgatorius should not be confused with the Index Librorum Prohibitorum, which came later in 1559 under Pope Paul IV. Although similar in purpose, the former operated with a more lenient system. In essence, books considered dangerous were "expurgated," or censored, by removing the undesirable parts, and then allowed to circulate. A curious choice for such a perilous book, especially given its medieval codex format.

Even so, the Necronomicon managed to spread, giving rise to unnameable cults. It was reportedly published twice: in Germany in the 15th century and in Spain in the 17th. Neither edition included printer details, location, or year of publication on their colophons or title pages.

The assertion that these editions were printed at those times and places is attributed to analyses of the paper, typography, and binding styles. It is known for certain that a version printed in Italy in the late 1500s surfaced in Salem in the hands of a librarian who was burned at the stake in 1692.

The John Dee Version of the Necronomicon

What about other versions? One of the most famous is undoubtedly the English translation attributed to John Dee, the alchemist, astrologer, and personal magician to Queen Elizabeth I. Dee, a real historical figure, wrote his version of the Necronomicon in 1580, though he never had it printed. Today, only fragments are believed to exist, which some self-proclaimed occultists claim to have transcribed and published as the original Al Azif.

Much could be said about John Dee, whose biography and occult studies could fill an entire bookshelf. Suffice it to say that his interests included necromancy—the art of raising the dead—and a dangerous fascination with poisons. This nearly cost him his life when he was accused of poisoning Mary I Tudor. Among his most famous works is the compilation of the "Enochian" language—the language of angels—communicated to him by his assistant and companion Edward Kelly, who history has rightly deemed a fraudster. Kelly exploited Dee's good faith for personal gain.

Other Necronomicons

Contrary to popular belief among laypeople, the Necronomicon is not a single entity, book, or copy that passes from hand to hand, corrupting its temporary owners and fueling fanatical cultists' attempts to awaken the Great Old Ones.

The Necronomicon is believed to exist in various copies, editions, and forms: one copy is said to be held at the British Museum, while a 1600 edition is reportedly in the vaults of the National Library of Paris. Several sinisterly reputed universities also allegedly house the notorious book: Harvard Library (for reasons we’ll discuss later), the Library of the University of Buenos Aires, and the more infamous Arkham University. Naturally, there are an indeterminate number of private copies.

In Lovecraft's story Pickman’s Model, the painter’s family reportedly possessed an Italian-printed copy in Greek, which was lost shortly after Richard Pickman disappeared in 1926.

Notably, the Vatican is said to hold a copy in its labyrinthine Vatican Library archives, while others are rumored to exist in the Kester Library in Salem, a private Cairo collection, an anonymous collector in China, and fragments scattered in the Nameless City in Arabia.

The King in Yellow

At this juncture, it’s essential to mention another cursed book to fully understand the nature of the Necronomicon: The King in Yellow by Robert Chambers, published in 1895. This collection of ten gothic tales eventually reached the hands of a certain recluse from Providence who, after reading it, embarked on a descent into madness—or perhaps pure genius. That recluse was none other than Howard Phillips Lovecraft, who, inspired by the dreamlike, eerie, and intangible style of Chambers, began to conceive indescribable universes, blasphemous creatures, unnameable rites, and terrifying visions of a pre-human past. These horrors would leave millions of readers (unfortunately only after his premature death in 1937) petrified before cosmic terrors from which there seemed no escape except insanity.

In the mind of the Providence writer, the unfathomable form of the King in Yellow became one of the most unsettling entities in the Lovecraftian pantheon: Hastur. Known also as "He Who Must Not Be Named," Hastur first appeared in The Whisperer in Darkness. Following Lovecraft's advice by granting Hastur this epithet, the entity is never mentioned again in his writings.

So, was Hastur created by Lovecraft? By Chambers? The answer is neither. Ambrose Bierce first mentioned the name in his 1893 story Haïta the Shepherd, along with the lost city of Carcosa. Located in a time and space incomprehensible to humans, Carcosa is a desolate city where an unmoving river flows, twin pale suns shine in the sky, and strange black stars linger above.

A city without inhabitants? Perhaps, because according to some, that is the dwelling of the King in Yellow, Hastur, and on those deserted streets, his solitary figure still roams, occasionally appearing in our world in various forms called "avatars."

What We Know About the Necronomicon

Now, let’s clarify things, because there’s still something missing from all this historical information. If you’ve read this far, you’re probably wondering if there could still be any doubts about the existence of the Necronomicon. Well, it seems that all this wealth of information (and I assure you, it’s not exhaustive) might be enough to lay a solid foundation for the book’s existence, especially when proposed as an object "deliberately hidden" by some institution like the Vatican, an anonymous private collector, and so on.

But something doesn’t add up: the Necronomicon seems elusive, kept where no one in the world can set foot (like the Vatican Library), where no reference catalog lists the names of its owners (private collectors are all curiously anonymous), yet at the same time, it seems readily available at certain universities. You just need to borrow it. Yes, but which Necronomicon? And then, is it truly that Necronomicon? As we’ve seen, throughout history (and even today), many claim to have handled it, transcribed the original text, and even reinterpreted it. On the internet, you can find dozens, perhaps hundreds, of editions claiming to be the real Necronomicon. Yet, in reality, they bear no relation to Al Azif. Among them are treatises on palmistry, astrology, New Age mysticism, black magic, and other oddities. Let’s be honest—these texts exploit the mere use of the word Necronomicon but are not the real thing, especially since (brace yourselves) the Necronomicon doesn’t exist.

Conclusions

Yes, and it’s not me saying this, but Lovecraft himself. Initially, he played some well-crafted pranks, leading a few friends to believe he had the book in his possession. In his writings, he even detailed the book’s story as if it were authentic. Alhazred, Al Azif, and all the Necronomicon’s centuries-long adventures were invented by the solitary man from Providence himself. The true mystery of the world’s most cursed book lies in its convincingly constructed history. Its existence is subtly denied even by those who claim to have handled it, relegating it to an even more twilight zone than the mystery of its existence itself.

Since the early 1900s, hundreds of writers, essayists, and antiquarians have competed to keep its myth alive—some playfully, others seeking visibility by making ever bolder claims, and still others hoping to draw attention to their catalogs of antique books, and so on.

As mentioned at the beginning, the Necronomicon even appeared in a reputable antiquarian book magazine, Antiquarian Bookman, in 1926, but that’s not all.

Even Lovecraft himself was surprised when one of his many pen pals, William Conover, sent him a 1936 magazine containing a strange review of the Necronomicon written by sci-fi author Donald Wollheim. The review claimed the book had been translated into English by a certain T. Faraday, whose preface clarified previously obscure aspects, such as the idea that today’s demons were none other than the Great Old Ones described by Chambers and Bierce. Needless to say, Lovecraft was thrilled, even acknowledging some historical inaccuracies. Despite this, he enthusiastically (and playfully) said he couldn’t wait to read Faraday’s work. But upon reflection, he wrote back to Conover: "This Necronomicon legend could one day make me look like a liar if it keeps growing and people find out I invented it."

Too late, dear Howard—the game was already in motion and would never stop. Perhaps that’s its true beauty.

Too much, in fact, as the matter began to spiral entirely out of control.

In 1941, the Necronomicon was listed in the catalog of a New York antiquarian bookstore with a description and a price: $900. Many collectors inquired about purchasing it, but the dealer had to "sidestep" negotiations, claiming it was already promised to a foreign university.

In 1953, the magazine Sir! published a bizarre article titled "Curious Uses of Human Skin," which mentioned the elusive Necronomicon bound in human skin. If you think binding books in human skin is merely a myth, I recommend looking into Harvard University, which holds several such tomes, like On the Destiny of the Soul by Arsène Houssaye from the late 1800s—a fitting title on the fate of souls.

It seems the 1941 idea from the New York bookstore particularly caught on, as that catalog entry inspired many others. Soon, the Necronomicon began spreading across the shelves (or private archives) of various bookstores, including La Mandragora, a Parisian antiquarian bookshop inundated with purchase requests for years. Sidestepping all these inquiries must have been time-consuming, although the increased visibility likely yielded golden business opportunities.

From discussing a fictional book to physically producing it with indecipherable drawings and writings, the leap was short. Among the first was illustrator Philippe Druillet, who claimed to have handled the Necronomicon and copied some pages, which soon began appearing in magazines. Adding a touch of credibility, Jacques Bergier, an old pen pal of Lovecraft, mentioned an integral French edition of the Necronomicon soon to be published by a Parisian press. Lovecraft, he added, had told him of an unidentified microfilm in the Vatican Archives and strange incidents at the University of Buenos Aires, where a copy of the world’s most blasphemous book was hidden. Allegedly, an unwary individual had spoken aloud certain words from its pages.

What else can we say, except that the Necronomicon, the one and only, is exclusively available in our catalog, in various formats and at all price points?

One thing we can’t promise: human skin binding. Unfortunately, that seems to be off-limits…

The True Story of the Necronomicon by Abdul Alhazred: Is It Just the Product of H.P. Lovecraft's Imagination?